To be honest, I'm a little bit terrified of physical contact, or I can't say terrified, just a little bit overwhelmed. Maybe it's because I was less fond of my parents when I was a child. I always thought that any emotion is based on the spirit, and the body is only secondary. Every time when I am sick, I hear my parents call me "Nong" (that is, the affectionate name for children in Hainan dialect) and then ask for help. I feel so happy and satisfied, and never ask for more.
So I walk with no one shoulder to shoulder, so my hands are always in my pockets. So, I wrote a love letter to the girl I liked, went all the way to buy anti-inflammatory medicine loquat cream, ate together, went to the campus and the playground together, and watched the stars and the moon together, but I never dared to hold someone's hand. So after I decided several times that I must try to hold someone's hand today, but I didn't have the courage, I saw the little girl holding hands with other boys, with a shy and happy smile on her face.
It's so beautiful, indeed, it's the coquettishness I've never seen before.
All spiritual attributes are empty, and all emotions need to be based on physical contact.
The reason why SM occurs is that the sensory nerves are numb to ordinary pleasures, and more intense stimulation is needed to get pleasure.
So, regardless of whether those encounters in those days were a shame to her, Lucia was physically satisfied, so much so that more than ten years after the war, when she saw Marx My heart is full of contradictions. On the one hand, he already has a good identity and status intellectually, and the past is unbearable; on the other hand, he has unforgettable memories and impulses for the physical stimulation of the past.
Either stand up and testify against the Nazi remnants, or keep silent and be killed by them.
Either deal with her quickly, or wait for her to testify and accept the legal trial.
What does justice and morality have to do with me? I just want this man in front of me to relive the thrilling and exciting good old days of our past.
What have my comrades and the Third Reich to do with me? I only want this woman in front of me, enjoying leather whip, iron chain and even glass slag.
They always live at night, what's wrong with starvation, what's wrong with danger, and they must be happy in life, grasping the last moment of lingering. Dawn was breaking, the storms came and went away faster and harder, and after sunrise everything was calm.
The person standing at one end is watching the movie at the other end, and it is too far away for me to see clearly.
Is this love?
View more about The Night Porter reviews
